


Green Like the River

by herprettysleeper



Series: Holidays With You [2]
Category: Bandom, Fall Out Boy, Panic! at the Disco
Genre: BUT I DID WRITE COMFORT, Brent Wilson is a bad person in this fic, Homophobia, Hurt/Comfort, Internalized Homophobia, M/M, St. Patrick's Day, brendon is bi af dude, but! also, dallon weekes has never done anything wrong in his entire life, good boyfriends, i don't know nor have an interest in the real dude so let's just leave that be, likely incorrect religious depiction, okay that's enough with the damned tags, past ryden, patrick stump may be kind but he don't take no shit, sorry i wrote this with the intention of making it hurt like a motherfucker
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-30
Updated: 2017-06-30
Packaged: 2018-11-21 13:13:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,009
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11358222
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/herprettysleeper/pseuds/herprettysleeper
Summary: Brendon and Patrick go kayaking in the Chicago River on St. Patrick’s Day, and run into someone from Brendon’s past, who forces him to remember his high school years.





	Green Like the River

**Author's Note:**

  * For [halfsweet](https://archiveofourown.org/users/halfsweet/gifts).



> This one’s for halfsweet—I promised her a St. Patrick’s day oneshot a long while ago, and here’s the result. Also, this turned out with a little more angst than expected…sorry about that.
> 
> In case y’all didn’t know, the Chicago River gets dyed green with biodegradable food dye every year on St. Patrick's day.
> 
> Also, this could be upsetting to many, so please, _please,_ read the tags. They've got the warnings.
> 
> Well, without further ado.

**March 17, 2013 - Now**

“I think I’m gonna throw up,” Patrick says, staring out at the water.

Brendon's in a green band t-shirt and green jeans. He managed to break out the green shoelaces, too. Patrick, however, is in regular denim jeans and a gray sweatshirt, and is not feeling the spirit.

“Patrick, we’re celebrating _you._ You drove all the snakes out of Ireland, Saint Patrick.”

“One, there were no snakes in Ireland to begin with,” Patrick mutters, approaching the dock. The water’s dyed green for the holiday and a kayak awaits them. “And two, you’re lucky I love you.”

Brendon smiles. “Yeah, I am, my saint.” Patrick glares at him, so Brendon kisses Patrick’s cheek. Patrick’s resolve breaks.

Brendon gets off the dock and onto the kayak, then notices Patrick hesitating. He places one foot on the kayak, and it shifts slightly under the weight, rolling a little with the gentle waves of the mostly calm river.

“Brendon,” Patrick says, voice shaking slightly.

“Hey,” Brendon says softly. He extends his hand.

Patrick grabs it, holding on with a vice-like grip, and Brendon helps him onto the kayak.

~*~

**April 24, 2003 - High School (Sophomore Year)**

Brendon allowed to look at the boy sitting across the cafeteria.

He’s just looking. He’s not sinning, just eating his cafeteria food while admiring dark brown eyes and short black hair, choppy bangs, and well-applied eyeliner. Ryan Ross. He’s a junior, and he’s sitting next to Spencer Smith, his best friend, and Ryan laughs—a smile spreads across his face and he chuckles, looking down, and Brendon notices a little _too_ much.

“Hey, man.” Brendon jumps at the voice, then relaxes when he realizes it’s Dallon.

“Hey—dude, are you okay?” Dallon’s eyes are bloodshot.

“I stayed up all night helping my mom make cupcakes. For the church bake sale,” Dallon clarifies.

Brendon’s eyes widen. “That’s tonight?”

Dallon gives him a wary look. “Yes, Brendon. Yes, it is.”

“...Oh. Shit.”

Dallon shakes his head.

Brendon averts the subject. “Want your food?”

“You wanna eat this?” Dallon glances at the slop on his tray, then back at Brendon, who shrugs.

“I’m hungry.”

“Brendon’s eating the lumpy mashed potatoes when he looks up to see Ryan looking at him. Ryan raises an eyebrow, quirks the corner of his lip upwards, and Brendon almost chokes.

He offers a small finger wave back.

~*~

**Now**

Patrick and Brendon are carried down the river at a pretty steady pace, so Brendon sets down the oars. That doesn’t stop Patrick from gripping onto Brendon’s shirt for dear life. Brendon wraps an arm around Patrick’s middle, holding Patrick closer to him.

It’s slow, but Patrick relaxes slowly, drops the death grip. “This isn’t so bad, I guess.”

“Oh, I’m sorry, I didn’t hear that, would you say that again?”

Patrick rolls his eyes, but he’s smiling as he leans his head against Brendon’s shoulder.

And then, Brendon hears a voice that isn’t either of theirs, but that is harrowingly familiar, saying, “Babe, you’re not even trying—”

His eyes widen, and he grabs oars. “Pat, please help me paddle,” he says, because, he refuses to let the person that voice belongs to see him ever again. Patrick shoots him a worried look, but picks up the other set of oars and starts rowing, and maybe if he goes fast enough, he can blend into the clump of kayakers a few yards ahead—

“Urie?”

Brendon flinches. Patrick does the same, but the worry in his expression is growing.

Brendon composes himself, turns around.

“Brent.”

~*~

**December 3, 2003 - High School (Junior Year)**

Brendon needs to stop smiling.

He’s been unnaturally cheery lately. In fact, everything’s been better. His grades are rising, he’s more optimistic, he gets along better with other students. He feels like he’s on some sort of drug.

“Uh, dude?” Dallon seems concerned. “You good?”

Brendon looks up, the ever-present smile still there. “Yeah, I’m fine, why?”

“I don’t know, it’s just that you’re, um, more cheerful than usual.”

“It’s been a good first semester.”

“...Sure.”

The class ends. Dallon pulls him into a corner while transitioning classes by his collar. Brendon whines a little, pulls away. “What the—”

“Brendon, are those... _hickeys?_ ”

Brendon yanks his collar back up. “No! No, what do you—no. They’re not…”

Dallon gives him the _cut the crap_ look.

“Maybe?”

Dallon runs a hand over his face. “So. Who is he?”

Brendon jumps. “No, there’s no—”

“I know you like girls and dude, Bren, and you don’t like any girls here at the moment, so tell me, who is he?”

Brendon looks away, only for his eyes to land on Ryan in the hallway. Ryan smiles genuinely, and Brendon can’t help but return it.

He turns back to Dallon, who’s staring at him with wide eyes and a gaping mouth.

“Bren, you didn’t.”

Brendon shifts on his feet. “Well…” He looks back up at Dallon with big eyes and a lopsided smile.

Dallon sighs. “You’re going to be the death of me.”

Brendon laughs and throws his arms over his best friend’s shoulder, and they head into class.

~*~

**Now**

“Brent.” Brendon forces a fake, tight-lipped smile. “It’s been a while.” He smiles at Brent’s fiancee—she’s wearing an engagement ring—and starts introducing himself. “Hi, I’m Brendon Urie, and you’re—”

“Ignore her,” Brent says. Patrick shoots the asshole a look that Brent doesn’t notice, and quietly introduces himself to her while Brent keeps talking to Brendon. “And no shit,” Brent says, and he’s _grinning,_ he’s fucking grinning. “How’re you doing, kid?”

 _I’m fine. You ruined my life, but I’m fine._ “It’s been alright.”

“Who are you?” Brent asks Patrick. Patrick smiles—it’s so forced it hurts Brendon a little—and holds out a hand. “I’m Patrick Stumph, nice to meet you.”

“Brent Wilson.”

Brendon watches as the happiness drains out of Patrick’s eyes at the mention of the name.

Brent breaks off the handshake and looks back at Brendon. Brendon thinks that if he spontaneously combusted now, he’d be thankful. “You grew up, kid!”

“I did.”

“So, you’ve got a girlfriend now?”

“I’ve got a boyfriend.” His hand and Patrick’s are linked. Brendon gives the sweetest, most innocent smile he possibly can.

Brent’s eyes widen. “You’re still…?”

“Bi? Yup. Definitely.”

Patrick covers his mouth with his free hand to hide his smile, and Brent’s fiancee’s doing the same, though out of honest shock, not humor.

Brent’s expression slowly turns into one of disgust, and Brendon readies himself for an outburst.

~*~

**June 24, 2004 - High School (The summer between junior and senior year)**

It’s dark out, and Brendon is pressed against a brick wall in an alley, Ryan’s lips on his, his hands roaming under Brendon’s shirt, and in the back of his mind, he’s guilty, God, he is, but Ryan’s here and he can’t bring himself to care.

He pulls him closer, and suddenly, there’s a flash.

Brendon slams himself into the wall, and Ryan pulls away.

It’s Brent Wilson—the biggest asshole in the school. He picks on freshmen all the time. Brendon doesn’t know how many times Brent has repeated junior year, but he remembers being a freshman and receiving his first swirlie from him.

And now? Brent’s grinning.

“Sorry about that,” Brent says and runs.

They chase after him, but they lose him, and Brendon leans against a wall, buries his head in his hands.

~*~

“He  _what?_ ”

Brendon’s sitting on Dallon’s bed. “I told you,” he says. His eyes are red and puffy, and he’s holding a couple of bunched up Kleenex that Dallon gave him.

Dallon sits down next to him. “We can fix this.”

“How?”

“I don’t know, but we’ll figure it out.”

It’s the first time Brendon doesn’t believe him.

~*~

“I can’t run away with you!” Brendon says.

He and Ryan are arguing. Again.

“Why not?”

“I want to finish high school, and go to college, and—”

“Stay here for the rest of your life?”

“Ryan.”

“B, I don’t want to leave you.”

Brendon shakes his head. “I’m here. We’re still here.

“I’m not going to be soon.”

“What?”

Ryan looks away. “I’m leaving. I don’t know where, but I’m leaving. In July.”

Brendon swallows. “Why didn’t you tell me earlier?”

“It didn’t matter earlier.” Ryan sighs. “Brendon, long distance doesn’t work.”

Brendon has to sit down.

Ryan continues. “I think we need to break up.”

“I understand,” Brendon says quietly.

~*~

It takes three weeks for the picture to spread around school. It takes three weeks and eight hours for it to get to the church, and three weeks and a day for Brendon’s parents to kick him out of the house. Dallon tries to see him, but with his parents hovering, visits become more and more sparse until he doesn’t visit at all. Brendon doesn’t blame him—Dallon would be here if he could.

He knows why his parents reacted why they did. They shouldn’t have to love him anymore. He knows.

It’s okay.

He understands.

~*~

**Now**

“You two?” Brent says, lip curled.

Brendon doesn’t bother being pleasant. “Yup. It’s been years.”

Brent shakes his head. “Oh, kid, you’re going to _Hell._ I tried to help you, but you’re too far gone, you fucking—”

Brendon nods at the word Brent uses to describe him, shrugs.

And Patrick, shy, easily flustered Patrick—his eyes fill with so much anger, his body trembles with it, and he seems as if he’ll burst into flame. His voice is carefully contained as he says, “Excuse me?”

“You heard—”

Brendon should’ve seen what happens next coming, but no, he didn’t.

Patrick pushes Brent into the river.

Brent’s fiancee gapes wide-eyed at Patrick, but Patrick and Brendon just stare at the helplessly floundering man, who is going to be soaked with green dye. At last, Patrick says, “We’re going to have to pull him out, aren’t we?”

“Sorry,” Brendon replies. Brent is still trying to tread. His fiancee is screaming. “I’d leave him to die, but I really want to spend the rest of our lives together outside of a prison.”

Patrick sighs, and they both hoist Brent out of the water and plop him onto his kayak next to his fiancee. Brent’s eyes are wide and he seems to be on the edge of a rage, but Patrick just smiles sweetly. “It was nice meeting you,” Patrick chirps and begins paddling away. Brendon waves as they exit.

When they’re far enough away, they stare at each other for a long moment, then burst into giggles.

“You,” Brendon wheezes, “just shoved him into the fucking river.”

Patrick shrugs, trying to get himself back under control. “He deserved it.”

“Oh my God, I love you.”

Patrick smiles a little. “I know.”

~*~

**August 15, 2005 - College (Freshman Year)**

Brendon has music theory with Professor Way, and it starts in ten minutes. The problem is, he doesn’t know the hell the classroom is.

New school, new era. At the bottom once again.

At least it’s not his senior year of high school—it’s not living in a crappy apartment he could barely afford with his equally crappy job at Tropical Smoothie Cafe, it’s not staying up till two am on a nightly basis to finish his homework because he had work, it’s not avoiding his parents, it’s not getting evicted from said crappy cafe when the owner found out he liked guys as well as girls, it’s not finding a place that was so horrible it made his skin crawl to sleep there every night.

He folds the memories up and shoves them in the back of his mind.

He’s glancing between his schedule and the buildings when he hears a quiet, but deep voice say, “Do you need help?”

He looks up to see a shorter man with dirty blonde hair hidden under a trucker hat. Brendon tries his luck. “I have Professor Way, but I don’t know where his classroom is.”

“Music theory?” Brendon nods. “It’s on my way,” the boy says. “I can show you.”

Brendon smiles—maybe things will change for the better. “Thank you.”


End file.
